


too much grind

by coricomile



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance
Genre: M/M, Secret Marriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-18
Updated: 2012-01-18
Packaged: 2017-10-29 18:26:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/322814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coricomile/pseuds/coricomile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: Remember that summer Patrick and Bob shared an apartment? Turns out the landlord would only rent to married couples.</p>
            </blockquote>





	too much grind

Bob kept the ring. It sits on his nightstand next to the photo of his mom and his alarm clock. He hasn't worn it in years, but it's a nice reminder to have around.

He doesn't hide it when Patrick comes to visit, doesn't try to pretend it's a joke, and Patrick doesn't say anything about it. He just shrugs hoa jacket off- suit jackets now instead of ugly prototypes and oversized sweaters- and settles down at the kitchen table. He looks good. Comfortable.

"How's civilian life treating you?" He asks.

"Alright," Bob grumbles back, setting two mugs on the table. Patrick grins, lopsided and small when he takes a drink of his. Apparently he still takes it the same way. "Heard the album. It's really good."

Patrick shrugs, plucks at a loose thread on the tablecloth. He's still shitty at taking a compliment. For all that's changed about him, he's still the same guy that Bob shared a two bedroom with.

"They uh," Patrick coughs into his cup, squirming in his chair. It makes the legs squeak on the hardwood. "The people my lawyer talked to said the papers are still binding. We, uh. We weren't one of the-"

Bob can see him struggling to spit out couple. They weren't really together. Not like that. Not more than a few drunken fumbles and a few confused emails. Bob sometimes wonder what would have happened if they had been.

"Our marriage wasn't one of the ones that were dissolved," Patrick says. He's a bit red around the ears, but he looks Bob in the eye when he says it. "Legally, we're still married."

Bob remembers signing the papers with Patrick at his side, feeling foolish and young. Patrick kept laughing nervously, afraid of being called out as a fraud by the people around them that were genuinely in love. He'd tasted a little bit like scotch when Bob had kissed him to seal the deal.

Patrick's fingers are tapping against his mug, picking up on the rhythm of the song playing distantly on the television. Bob can't read him, doesn't really know why he brought it up. They've been distant for a while. Maybe there's someone Patrick wants to marry now. It makes a foreign ache rise up in Bob's chest.

"You think Mrs. Beasley still has the old apartment?" Bob asks. Patrick snorts.

"Mrs. Beasley probably doesn't even own it anymore," he says. Bob thinks about the IKEA couch and the busted fridge and the terrible wallpaper. He's lived in better places, but he misses that one the most.

There's silence, awkward and heavy. They could probably still annul the marriage, if they wanted. They never consummated it.

"I have my ring, too," Patrick finally says. "It's- uh. I keep it in my guitar case." Bob bites his tongue before he can ask which one. He can see Patrick's Adam's apple move as he swallows. "I never really saw myself as a divorce."

Bob laughs. It startles both of them.

"Are you saying you want to stay married to someone you never see and aren't involved with?" Bob asks. He feels kind of like an ass when Patrick hunches in on himself. Definitely the same on the inside.

"That was a great year," he says quietly. "I've got a long while until there's- well. Anything. You maybe want to-" He waves his hand around aimlessly, his narrow wrist peeking out from under his shirt cuff.

"Are you asking me on a date?" Bob asks. That stiff, foreign thing in his chest eases away as he watches Patrick bite back annoyance.

"Several, actually," he says. He scratches at his blonde, blonde, blonde hair and gives a familiar nervous laugh. "You interested?"

"Yeah," Bob says. He taps his bare foot against Patrick's loafer.

"Yeah," Patrick repeats, grinning down at the table.

Bob puts his ring on that night. It's snug around his finger, heavy. It feels- right.


End file.
